Sock It To Me

Kristen Twedt Sock It to Me

Getting older is really cramping my style. I developed a bad case of plantar fasciitis, a painful condition of the foot that often strikes us fortyish folks. As part of my ongoing treatment and recovery, I had shock wave treatment of my heel. While I heal, foot exercises that stretch the injured fascia are essential. Enter the Strassburg Sock.

In his deep desire for my full and speedy recovery, my husband seemed overly eager for me to try the Strassburg Sock, a contraption obviously designed by someone who shares his wicked sense of humor. He came home from work with a special package.

“I brought you something you’re going to love.”

Some women get flowers while they recuperate from a medical procedure. I got a sock.

“Well, doesn’t that look interesting?”

“Try it on,” he beamed. “The guy at the foot store said it will work wonders.”

Ah, yes, the foot store. If only I could buy a healthy 20-year-old foot to replace my dysfunctional 42-year-old appendage. I slipped the long, white sock over my tender foot and calf. It featured a long tongue of Velcro down the front and around the top. I adjusted the sock per the enclosed instructions. I felt completely ridiculous.

“You know, I think I’ll take it off for now and put it on at bedtime,” I said. A couple hours later, I joined him in bed.

“Where’s your sock?” he asked with a fevered pitch.

“Oh. The sock. It’s right here. I’ll put it on.” And I did. I lay there, both legs exposed, the sock drawing the toes of my left foot in an obscene arc toward my face.

“I feel like the kid in ‘A Christmas Story’ with his arms stuck in his winter coat,” I told him. “I can’t put my toes down!”

“I’m sure you’ll get used to it,” he sputtered.

“I’m sure you’d never laugh at my expense, either,” I said while he howled. “You know, I think I know why you wanted me to wear this so badly.” I stretched out the stark white support hose, stroking it seductively, my toes frozen in a come-hither position. “It’s nothing but sexy.” The contraption mocked us both. Suddenly, he was snoring and I was nose-deep in my book.

Time will tell if the sock helps or not. I am hopeful that it and all the pampering I’ve done to this foot will pay off. I have thought a lot about folks who face the daily challenge of walking with canes, walkers or those who move about in wheelchairs. I'm afraid the ones I know handle it with much more grace and dignity than I would. My sore foot makes me cranky. And this crazy sock makes getting ready for bed an exercise in Velcro tolerance.

"Are you wearing your sock?" my husband will ask sleepily as I turn out the light.

"How about I give you a little kick and you tell me?" In the darkness, his shins retreat and he feigns sudden slumber.

Yep, next time I come home from a medical procedure, I bet I get roses.